Wandering through the
bustling streets of the cosmopolitan city I call my home, there is nothing that
really stands out about me. Nothing to
distinguish me from the hordes of mackintosh clad commuters, bargain seeking
consumers and day tripping tourists going about their daily business of living, working, shopping and sightseeing.
As my hometown happens to be Brighton
(well, Hove actually) there is also a liberal smattering of mumbling crazies, dreadlocked hippies and pierced, tattooed, stretchy-eared tribal types
too. OK, maybe I stand out a bit from
them, as I try to keep my mumbling under control and all my tribal marks are
hidden, but looking at me, what would the average person see? The answer is just another average
person.
How wrong would those average
people be? I am not just another average
person. Not any more. I belong to a covert, highly select group of
individuals who do all we can to conceal our secret identities to the masses under
our mackintoshes. If our identities
were to be revealed to the wider community we would risk being shunned, persecuted, ridiculed, and at the very worst-totally ignored. No, I am not a spy. I am an ‘Ex Expat’.
I’m not talking about being
an expat individual from Wales who has lived most of her life in England, as
that detail only gains me entry into the lower echelons of the aforementioned club. Only when one chooses extreme displacement
from ones native land to travel across land and sea (and not just a quick jaunt
down the M4 motorway) can one gain entry into the secret society of elite exiles.
The reason we don’t reveal
our identities is that on the whole, people don’t really care. Most folks aren’t interested in hearing about
lives lived in far-flung, sun soaked, culture submersing corners of this wide
and wonderful world, unless they fancy going there on holiday at some point. The ones that do ask questions, therefore, risk
being bombarded with dazzling experiences that burst forth in a frenzy of
enthusiasm, having long been kept supressed and buried deep inside.
Among friends and colleagues
in the UK who know my expat secret, there is the tacit understanding that these
facts remain unspoken about, as they bear little significance to their lives
anyway. Unless:
1.) They have been, or are
planning on going there on their holidays,
or:
2.) Have a strong opinion on
the country having never even been there. In this case they have free reign to talk about it in whatever terms
they want.
In the case of being an expat
from Dubai, I have found there is a wealth of opinion out there, which people
are more than willing to share with me once my secret has been revealed. Maybe in the years that I have been enjoying
all year round sunshine, desert landscapes, five star hotel restaurants,
beautiful beaches, warm seas and of course, tax free living, Dubai has been
getting some bad press. A valuable
lesson not to believe all you read in the newspapers, I say. Yes, there were some negative aspects of life
in the UAE, but I for one was quite happy to put up with them as long as that
sun was shining. And it was, most of the
time. So don’t knock it unless you’ve
tried it, even if it was only for a fortnight.
But as Dorothy says, “There’s
no place like home”, and rather than risk becoming completely displaced, Hove
beckoned (in a kind of seagull squawking siren call). Now I can scream down the M4 whenever I want, to get as close to my roots as I like and return to the city of mumbling, crazy, tribal types where nobody judges you if you don’t fit in. Not being able to fit in anywhere is why most
people feel at home here like nowhere else.
There’s been a bit of
adjustment, a lot of shopping for woollies and wellies, and apart from missing
the sun, sand and expat friends, life in Hove is great. Walking along the prom I hear a huge variety
of accents from all over the world, as the 'average' people of this city pass
by. This town is full of expats. Maybe
that’s why it feels so familiar. Don’t
tell anyone though, it’s a secret.
